


Silk

by chooken



Category: Westlife
Genre: Boxers, Cock Tease, Desperation, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, MarKian, Sexual Frustration, Underwear Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:55:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kian wants to swap underwear.  Mark doesn't think that will be a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silk

“ _Oh_...”

It’s the only thing Mark can come up with to explain the full and complete range of the emotions he’s feeling right now. Especially when the smirk on Kian’s face is hindering his thinking abilities as much as it is, and it’s, Christ, so unfair that Kian can look that fucking calm and collected when he’s suggesting what Mark never expected him to suggest.

“So... will you?”

The smirk has become a predatory grin as Kian stalks towards him, naked, miles and miles of deliciously golden skin on display, and the fact that Mark’s just gotten entirely hard over an item of _clothing_ seems so totally inappropriate at this point. A hand hooks around his neck, and he has to moan as teeth graze his shoulder.

“Marky...”

“Oh...” He’s already said that, hasn’t he? But he’s not feeling very vocal at the moment, at least not in any coherent way. “God yes.” He mumbles, feeling large square hands rest on his hips and _stroke_ , thumbs trailing downwards and making Mark bite his lip.

“Ki...”

He’s left abruptly cold, and opens his eyes in irritation and mild surprise, looking up to see Kian waving the offending garment above his head, a naughty grin on his face, and as he watches, the briefs are lowered and stepped into, shimmied up toned thighs and narrow hips, the cotton clinging as Kian snaps the elastic gently around his waist, stepping forward again.

Mark has to suck in a breath as his hands are dragged around to rest on Kian’s bum, stroking the worn cotton as Kian kisses him hard, tongue twisting straight into his mouth and setting up camp there. A frantic, desperate kiss that has Mark so near coming it’s not even funny.

“Your turn.” Mark groans as Kian drops to his knees, feeling both bereft and eager when Kian licks his lips, holding up a pair of boxers. Silk ones that Mark wouldn’t ever dream of wearing because, like, they’d slip around wouldn’t they? And be uncomfortable and stuff. The only one here who wears silk boxers is Kian.

He steps carefully into them, leaning a hand on Kian’s broad shoulder for support, sucking in a breath as Kian drags them up, practically shimmying along Mark’s body until Mark thinks he can feel Kian’s scent on his skin.

“Very nice.” The soft purr against his ear makes Mark shudder. Kian chuckles, and all Mark can think of is how much he wants to throw Kian to the bed and fuck him as hard as he can.

And he didn’t just whimper.

“Right. Catch!” His own jeans come flying at his head as he stands there in a dazed stupor seconds later, Kian already dragging his own trousers up over Mark’s cotton briefs, shirt following soon after. Mark watches, admiring, and then begins to put on his own jeans. Tugging them on and trying to smooth the boxers into a comfortable position before zipping them up.

Oh.

Silk, laid flush against his skin, and there was no way he could’ve prepared himself for this feeling. Slippy smooth material rubbing over very hard flesh, the cold only making the hotness starker, and the gasp of air he sucks in can probably be heard on the other side of the hotel.

Jesus, he didn’t _know._

Before he can think, Kian’s at his side again, a firm hand coming up between his legs and just _pushing_ as Mark groans at the feeling of a palm kneading him hard, and Kian’s raspy growl against his ear.

“Can you feel me, baby?”

Mark definitely doesn’t whimper again.

“God yeah...” He gasps, resisting the urge to reach down and rip everything back off and _force_ Kian’s hand around him. Grip himself tight and bring himself off. But he can’t. They have to go.

“I can feel you too.” And then Mark’s hand is forced against something equally hard, and this time he definitely does whimper. Because Kian is mouthing his ear, and that’s not the only part of him that’s wet. He jumps as teeth bite sharply at the lobe and then just melts, wanting to sink into Kian but not able to when Kian disappears _again_ , throwing Mark his t-shirt and striding out the door without further ado.

“See you downstairs.”

 

*

 

This is getting worse by the minute, Mark thinks as he sits in the car, trying desperately to readjust himself without looking conspicuous. Not that the tent in his – Kian’s - boxers is at all inconspicuous, but his constant twitching and shifting can only be alerting the others, and it’s just not _fair_.

“You getting out?” Mark shoots Kian a glare out the window as he realises he’s the only one sitting in the car now, the others all milling about outside waiting impatiently. Nicky’s tapping his foot, and Shane’s vision has gone sort of far away as he leans against the grey brick wall of the studio.

“I hate you.”

Kian snickers, and Mark has a quick glance around before reaching down and trying to push everything back into its rightful place, the touch against sensitive skin not helping at all, and he drops his head onto the back of the seat in front as a long shudder wracks his body.

“I hate you.”

“Get out.” Kian rolls his eyes, stepping back and holding the door open, and Mark glares again before sliding out as carefully as possible, the increasing dampness of the silk creating even more friction. A hand claps his back. Mark looks up to see Nicky winking at him, as if he knows. He can’t. Kian better not have told.

“You look uncomfortable. You and Ki have a rough night?”

Ah. Well, it makes him blush, but it’s better than Nicky actually knowing what the problem is. He glares at Nicky as well, making the older boy snigger before moving on, and falls into step beside Shane, who’s looking too out of it to notice that Mark’s incapable of coherent thought.

It seems like hours before he’s able to sit down again, and he rests against the back of the chair, staring into the middle distance as everybody wanders about doing boyband things.

God, he had no idea silk was like this, and it’s no wonder Kian’s coping so well with the cotton if he has to saunter about in this every day. And the fact that Kian does wear these, has had is cock exactly where Mark’s is sitting now, had it that way not four hours ago, is enough to make him want to sob with lust, and he covers his face against the burning in his cheeks.

Oh. God.

He shifts, forgetting that he is actually wearing silk, and sucks in a breath as _everything_ shifts. And slides. And rubs. And shimmies. And caresses. And.

Jesus fucking Christ, this can’t be happening.

“Mark!”

“What!” Mark barks back, jolting his head up and trying not to look too obvious. Shane smiles at him in confusion, a funny little smirk on his face as he holds up a bottle of Evian.

“You want a drink or not?”

“Oh... er... yes please.” He catches the bottle awkwardly, almost dropping it, and then opening it clumsily and quickly, just to give himself something to do. He can hear Kian sniggering with Nicky somewhere across the room, and just hopes it’s not at him.

It’s some time later when Shane’s wandered off to find his suddenly lost keys and Nicky’s gleefully belting out his verse in the booth that Kian wanders over, an ambiguous little smile on his face, and Mark’s _this_ close to getting on his knees and begging.

“Hello.”

Mark grunts.

“Marky?”

Mark lifts his head from his hands to shoot a glare, and Kian’s just standing there. Fucking smirking.

“How do you _do_ this?”

“Ah, see it’s quite easy.” Kian bends down, lips close to Mark’s ear, hot breath rushing over his cheek. Mark shivers, even the slight movement making the silk shift. Kian smiles. “Very easy.” He repeats. “I don’t have to think about the fact that my cock’s laying exactly where yours was. I don’t have to imagine it. I don’t have to think about the fact that I’ve been so hot for you in those boxers that it’s probably still there. The smell. The taste.” His tongue actually flickers around the shell of Mark’s ear for a nanosecond, which _so_ isn’t playing fair. “The heat.” Kian murmurs, hand coming to rest on Mark’s knee. “That I’ve thought about fucking you in those boxers. That I’ve had them caught around my ankles while I jerked off thinking about you. That I’ve stroked myself through them. That _you’ve_ stroked me through them. I don’t have to think about that on any other day. It makes it so much easier.”

Mark actually sobs, this whining needy little gulp as Kian slides his hand up Mark’s thigh, rucking everything up through his jeans. Everything’s sliding and slipping around him, and he starts to think that that wall might be a good place to fuck Kian’s brains out. It’s either that or embarrass himself totally in about five seconds.

“Ki...”

“Mark.” Kian murmurs, and Mark’s only just clear-headed enough to notice that Kian’s breathing is rather heavy, like it is when he’s incredibly, incredibly turned on. “I want you. Right now.”

Three seconds. Two.

“Ki, have you seen my k...?” The loud groan they both emit make Shane’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What?” But as Mark watches his eyes flicker between the two of them, both flushed and sweaty, eyes dark and lips swollen, Shane’s eyebrows raise until they’re almost touching his hairline. “You’re not like... doing some weird sex thing, are you?"

“No.” Kian replies shortly, standing up and giving Mark a momentary glimpse of the erection that’s only just being hidden by his jacket. “Just talking.”

“O... kay.” Shane looks between them again, and Mark takes a swig of his water to hide the blush that he can feel coming on.

So not fair.

Coming out of the bathroom, Mark has to readjust himself again. It’s incredibly wrong that he just jerked off in the McDonald’s toilets, but there’s really not much else he _could_ do. He was practically soaking through his jeans, which would be incredibly hard to explain.

He hates Kian more than he’s ever hated anyone in his whole entire life at this point. They’d actually finished early, a brilliant chance for the two of them to go back to the hotel and shag each other silly while Shane and Nicky shop, and what does Kian say?

“Yeah, sure Nix. I need new shoes, anyway.”

Argh!

So they’ve been wandering around for the past hour, looking at everything in every single shop window, and has Kian even looked at any bloody shoes yet? Has he, buggery!

Kian’s eyes are on him as he comes to sit down again, this horrible little smirk playing over his lips, and it’s all Mark can do to stop himself throttling Kian. And then hump his leg. Because, yes, he is hard again. Very very much so.

It’s just not fair.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” He mumbles back, absently scraping the gooey pickles off his burger. Kian flickers his tongue over the end of the straw, peeking up suggestively through long thick lashes. He kicks out automatically, just wanting Kian to fucking _stop it!_

“Ow!”

“Sorry Shay. Accident.” Shane glares at him, and Kian smirks again. Nicky begins to carefully remove his own pickles, and Mark feels toes begin to stroke his ankle and move higher. He’s about ready to sob, and not just because the foot’s reached the inside of his knee.

He didn’t know it was possible to be this hard. Well, he did, but only when he’s in a slightly more private place, and Kian’s on him or under him or around him or in him, and even then he’s not sure he’s been aroused to quite this extreme. Except maybe that time with the handcuffs and the feathers and the ice cubes. And that thought _really_ isn’t helping the rather urgent situation he’s in.

“You okay? You look a bit flushed.”

“I’m...” He tries not to squeak as the heel of Kian’s foot lands directly in his lap and starts to move, pushing in and out, moving the silk, god, everywhere at once. “...fine, Ki.” He glares. His voice is kinda croaky, but it’s better than the moan he just knows is coming on. The heel pushes again, then he feels toes wiggle against the head of his cock. This time he does moan, and hopes the others don’t notice.

They don’t, luckily. Shane and Nicky are discussing something very seriously, and are so absorbed in that there’s no way they can spare a thought for anything else. Mark glares again, and furtively shoves Kian’s foot out of his lap, delighting in the loud ‘thunk’ it makes when it hits the floor and the grimace of pain on Kian’s face.

Mark pokes his tongue out, trying to ignore the fact that his nipples are chafing painfully against the inside of his shirt. And that everything’s just shifted. Again.

“Do you want to go back?”

”Huh?” Mark’s ears perk up at the sentence, blinking around in confusion as Shane leans over the table to press his hand to Nicky’s forehead.

“You’re feeling a bit warm.” Shane adds. “Might be coming down with that flu. Didn’t Gina have it?”

“Yeah but...” Nicky trails off, looking even paler than usual. “Oh shit.” And then he’s off and sprinting towards the loos, hand clasped over his mouth, chair knocked over with the force. Mark considers reaching over to right it again, but he doesn’t think he can. He doesn’t think he can even move.

Because, Nicky may be feeling terribly terribly sick, but there’s only one thing that’s more important, as horrible as it is to think it.

Silk.

Nicky comes out a few torturous minutes later, looking slightly worse for wear. His cheeks are sweaty, his hair is mussed, and his chest is moving with short, shallow gasps.

And all Mark can think of is making Kian look that way.

And silk.

And the fact that he’s so hard he could drill holes through concrete, given half a chance.

“We better take you back so Jake can get a doctor, alright?” Shane’s already standing up, grasping Nicky by the arm as the older boy trembles, his legs shaky. “Come on, we’ll call a cab.”

Kian’s already standing too, and Mark follows very carefully, the slow movements making the silk shift even more, if that’s possible. He whimpers under his breath, and then reaches out to touch Nicky’s forehead, trying to act as concerned as he can. And he is. This is his friend’s health they’re talking about. But still, his dick’s not really on the same wavelength.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine with him. You two can stay if you want.”

“No!” Mark dives in before Kian can say anything at all. He’s taking no chances that this torture might continue for the next few hours. “No, it’s okay. We’ll come back here tomorrow or something.”

It’s a very very long drive in the cab, not that the trip there was much better. Walking isn’t something advisable when wearing silk boxers, and Mark has absolutely no idea how Kian does this everyday without developing a permanent hard-on. Nicky’s usually the one with the stiffy, not Kian.

Kian’s hand’s on his knee the whole way. Not really doing anything, just reminding Mark of exactly what he’s not getting right at that very moment, and the constant shifting to readjust himself only makes things worse. How can something pressed against his skin be so cool when he’s so hot? And it’s so damp that the friction’s nearly killing him. He really honestly can’t do it anymore.

Thankfully the trip isn’t a long one, but the ride in the elevator seems like an eternity with Kian standing directly in front of him, arse brushing him with the sway of the lift as Shane fusses over Nicky and tries to convince him that the lift is actually more of a happy place. As opposed to a metal box being dragged up very high in the air on flimsy cables.

He doesn’t even notice Kian’s hand edging around behind him and by the time he does it’s too late to stop it. Not that he really wants to. But they are kind of in public, and...

Oh.

Oh god. Oh.

God.

He has to groan out loud as Kian’s hand tightens around his cock, or risk spontaneous combustion. Burying his face in the back of Kian’s neck, he desperately tries to disguise it as a laugh or a hiccup or something, but there’s no way it’s worked. And now Kian’s squeezing again, and he just can’t do it another second.

Like a miracle, the lift doors finally take it upon themselves to open with the most beautiful sound Mark’s ever heard in his life.

“Come on.” Shane’s guiding Nicky out first and, checking quickly that nobody’s looking, Kian grabs Mark’s hand tight and forces it into something... oh. Very very very very hard.

“Fuck me now.” Kian growls, and they’re out and across the hall without even acknowledging the others, who are probably giving them very funny looks. But Mark doesn’t care. The door’s slamming behind him and he’s forcing Kian up against the wall without even undoing his trousers, growling as everything slides and grinds together in a suddenly nice way.

“Oh fuck.” Kian whimpers, wrapping his legs around Mark’s waist, arms around his neck as the thrusts become mindless, Mark’s hands hooking under Kian’s thighs to hold him.

Mark cries out as Kian’s face buries itself in his neck, teeth digging in hard in a way that will definitely leave marks. But he’s so close he doesn’t care. Has been this way for six hours, and if his cock doesn’t explode very soon, his head’s going to.

“Harder.” Kian whispers, claiming Mark’s mouth in a hard, bruising kiss, tongue twisting into his mouth and licking, god, everywhere. Thrusting hard as the silk strokes places Mark didn’t even know existed. Kian gasps, accepting every brutal thrust, Mark’s erection becoming less of a bad thing now as it grinds against Kian’s - which might even be harder than his - through silk and denim and cotton. “God, I’ve been feeling you all day.” A low keening noise forces its way from Mark’s lips at the sound of Kian’s voice, all husky and needy, but Kian swallows it immediately, his mouth capturing Mark’s again.

“I...”

“Feeling you against... me...” Kian pants. “Your... your cock. Feeling... it...”

“Kian...” Tiny stars dance behind Mark’s eyelids, and it’s the last straw. He comes hard, soaking the silk boxers and moaning into Kian’s neck as the older boy shudders, gripping his hair in a way that would be painful if Mark was even inside his own body anymore. But he’s not. He’s floating on this wave of absolute ecstasy, but is just close enough to feel Kian tense and gasp, a second wave of sticky wetness joining the first as it seeps through cotton and denim. Mark’s cotton. And that thought is enough to make Mark want to come again, even though he’s not going to be capable of that for... oh... at least ten minutes.

“God, I love you.” Kian murmurs, slithering out of Mark’s loosening grip and into a heap on the floor, joined a second later as Mark’s knees give out and he collapses too, head falling automatically into Kian’s shoulder as he sort of half-sits, half-lies on the floor, every inch of his body trembling.

Mark chokes out a laugh, Kian collapsing even more until they’re both laid out on the floor, tangled up in this huge, wonderful mess of sticky limbs. Mark hears Kian sigh as a blonde head comes to lie on his chest, and strokes a hand over the back of Kian’s sweaty t-shirt, idly wondering if any of their clothes will be wearable again.

He hopes so. God, he loves silk.


End file.
